


Small Troubles

by Anonymous



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, just some random stuff that i dont plan to come back to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: CH1: A Ripple [AU, Shadow Wilson from a different timeline watches as another Wilson and Webber accidentally stumble into his universe. Original document was written on paper and had more characters, and was actually a role reversal - with Wilson on the Throne and William as a Pawn, and then Wilson and co. accidentally stumbling into the whole mess. I still have said document but it's not worth it to make a digital copy, so this is the only remnant of the idea.]CH2: Paradoxical Parasols [Time Travel AU, a more modern timeline with a future/alternate universe Wilson contacting Wilson instead of Maxwell.]CH3: Feather Elixer [I'm sure I have notes written down somewhere, but I can't be bothered to find em and so I genuinely don't really know what this is. Something something immortality potion something somehow steampunk inspired? I don't know and neither do the characters.]
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	1. A Ripple

**Author's Note:**

> just some abandoned ideas i had back in 2015-2017. bare minimum editing on these.

A ripple, infinitesimal amongst the beat of the universe. But Wilson was listening - it was a hobby, a pastime for eternity.

His own bubble of sound was pressured, pressed into a molded bowl, catching the flickers sprung from the ripple. Nothing new, and Wilson knew that his world was not so kind to leave them unscathed. Just like the others, they'd wear away and dissipate back into the frothy weave of existence.

But what was this? A small speck of himself, an imitation, twitching and worried. Its companions were just as familiar - figures from the reel of his life, one he watched from such a great distance.

Was this new? Or just his boredom pressing its weight upon him, smothering him until he entertained it?

Nevertheless, something interesting was something new. And while he couldn't care less, a little experiment for his toys wouldn't do them any harm.

.

There was a pounding in his head, and his lungs crackled and split with each wheezing breathe. He tried not to flinch.

As he slowly regained consciousness, he tentatively opened his eyes. Green grass, soft and downy, pressed against his cheek. Wilson grunted.

“Oh! You're awake!” A child’s voice came from just behind him, and he clumsily rose to face them. “Don't move, Mr. Wilson! We don't know if you've broken anything!”

Wilson waved away Webber’s concerned voice, instead blithely looking about them. Tall trees crowded around them, curving upward to cover most of the sky. What he could see was grey and washed out, but cloudless.

He felt a coarse hand lightly press against his shoulder. He slumped down, realizing that he'd been starting to stand. Webber’s eyes were round and glistening, their formless mouth pressed into a tense line. 

“W-here are we? Where is everybody?”

Webber’s eyes crinkled, and they turned back to what Wilson now saw was a blueish fire. They didn't answer.

“Webber?”

“We don't know where we are.” They paused, and continued in a small voice. “We thought you'd know.”

Wilson stared at them, then turned his head about again to gaze at the forest that surrounded them. 

“We're not anywhere I recognize.” Wilson bit his lip, then said, “Webber, what happened?”

Webber ducked their head, almost like they were ashamed - or scared.

“Webber?”

Webber whirled around, and - Wilson was shocked - there were tears in their eyes. “I don't know what happened! They - you--”

They dissolved into hiccuping sobs. Wilson rushed - well, as fast as he could with an aching back and twitching legs - to their side, gathering them up in stiff arms.

“Webber - Webber, it's ok! It's ok! Look, we're fine! We're ok, the both of us - neither of us was harmed, were we?” At Webber’s shaking head, Wilson said, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Webber fumbled, but said, “They found out. A-and….”

“Found out what?” Wilson knew - he already knew. But he thought it would have been fine; wouldn't they have been fine with it?

“You know… Oh, please don't make me say it, Mr. Wilson. It was bad enough trying to tell them without you.”

“Webber - Webber, look at me. What did they do?”

“They…. Well, they didn't like it. You know that machine you were building?”

The Machine…. He didn't know why he'd been building it, but he'd dreamt it, and Wilson always built what he dreamed. He nodded.

“They threw us in. You were asleep, so I was really scared, but you're ok now, right?”

Wilson wasn't listening. He stood up, and was frantically turning about in circles to gaze up at the sky again.

“Wilson?”

Wilson rushed to the foot of one of the immense trees, nearly landing flat on his face when he tripped on some strange succulent plants ringing the base of the tree. The trunk of the tree was a roughened grey, like a scribbled picture of lead. The leaves were so high above that he couldn't identify their color or size.

Wilson scrambled at the succulents, the twining washed out green stalks easily pulling apart to reveal strange white tubers and several small, persimmon like fruit. He stumbled away, falling back toward the fire.

Webber gazed at him with that same right expression, fear glimmering in their eyes. “Wilson, where are we?”

Wilson shook his head, refusing to answer. Whether his hypothesis was true didn't really matter; they were still stuck here regardless, and any attempts to leave would have to wait until they had better supplies. “Webber, I don't know. I just don't know.”

.

The first few days were just as uncomfortable as the first day the newcomers had stayed in their camp. Webber tried to help, they really did, but Wilson seemed to have clammed up. So Webber told their friend what they knew.

They had been here for almost two days before Wilson awoke. Webber has been too nervous to try the strange vegetation. Wilson, of course, was the tenacious sort; he ate one of the white tubers and one of the persimmons, roasting them lightly and carefully eating them. When the morning came and no negative effects were seen, Webber had some as well.

Water was a little more difficult. They found a large lake nearby, but a thin oil covered the surface and when Wilson attempted to boil it it burst into flames before drowning in its own thick black goop. Thankfully, the succulents, when pressed, oozed out a thin liquid akin to water. When boiled, it tasted sweet but kept them hydrated with no ill effects.

The forest itself was silent, the trees impossible to climb due to the thick trunks and high branches. Animals could be heard scampering about at night, but neither of the two ill-fated companions caught sight of the elusive creatures.

Despite the easy quiet that took hold of their growing camp - or perhaps because of it - Webber grew increasingly fidgety and flighty and Wilson grew increasingly short-tempered.


	2. Paradoxical Parasols

He was frantic.

He swept the beakers, the pipettes, the syringes and delicate vials, all to the floor, shattering with a booming, piercing sound.

Silence, except for his panting.

He was lost - he was going nowhere, was falling into a deep void, a life that began with nothing and ended with just as much.

Wilson bit his fingers, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried not to breath.

Under his closed eyelids, he saw bursts of red, red light, exploding against the wavering black. The unseen world made him dizzy, made him spin, and he dropped to the floor, boneless like a doll his sister used to play with.

He moaned, curled his feet to his chest, and shook so hard he could hear the shattered glass on the floor rattle.

The experiment was going nowhere. It bubbles uselessly, but that was all.

He didn't even know what he was trying to do. All he knew was that he wanted to do  _ something. _

His colleagues always mocked him, always made him do all the work for their own theories - why couldn't he do something for himself for once?

But he couldn't think of anything, and the tinkering he did left him a laughing stock amongst his peers.

There was a small crooning, sliding into his ears with the static of a radio. He calmed slightly, hands loosening from his hair, back relaxing ever so slightly.

If there was one thing he was proud of, it was his radio. He had built the thing himself, had actually molded half the components into shape with his own hands. A little bit of music in the lab always cheered him, and no matter how much the others complained, he only removed it when he was not working.

The woman's voice was a low, smooth thing, reaching the high notes with an ease that crept into his ribcage and made his heart flutter.

And then there was the sudden blur of interference, crackling and upsetting.

He rose from his bed of silver and glass, and fiddled with the knobs with a mindless irritation.

《--gr-you----hecjhc----》

It coughed,and he reached toward the back panel.

《Don't do that.》

He jumped, pulling the cord out from the wall. The radio screamed, and he dropped the machine to clutch at his ears. At least no one was here, except him.

《Forgive me, forgive me. I forgot about that.》

He stared.

《You…. are very confused. Let me put that unease to rest.》

Static, then a cough.

《You are looking for a solution, correct?》

He stared.

《Well, of course you are. You are ____, after all.》

“I must be hallucinating. Just like Mother always said I did.”

《No, no, you're not hallucinating. If you are, I must say your mind is brilliant, because I feel as real as I did yesterday and as real as I will feel tomorrow.》

“If I'm not just sleeping now, what are you doing here?”

The radio let out harsh static, before a drawn out hum issued from its webbed speakers.

《I am here because you need me. You are searching for a goal, no?》

How did it know?

《Don't give me such a suspicious expression! Here, I'll give you this.》

A sudden hand on his forehead, where there was no hand on his forehead, and a sudden knowing filled him. He turned to the table, eyes roving about the mess, and he knew what he had been trying to do before.

“I was…. trying to make pork soda?”

《Indeed.》

“But why?”

《Just something to do, I suppose. I never much thought about it, after _____.》

“.... After what?”

《Nevermind that. I know what you want. You don't.》

A silence, while Wilson stood there, staring at the failed ‘pork soda’. He even knew what he had done wrong, what he needed to do to fix it.

“Give me some time to think.”

He left, leaving the churning radio behind.


	3. Feather Elixer

A clicking, clinking of glass and worn equipment. He flicked away the dust, a brief flare of annoyance, then again returned his mind to his goal. The liquid glowed, vibrant red against the other, black vial. His hand trembled, just for a moment, but he steadied it with a twitch of anger.

He poured the black, viscous fluid into the red vial, excitement winding up, up, and up.

He got a single moment to flinch back, but his eyebrows were singed in the backfire. He threw the fragments of glass to the floor, teeth hissing. He should have seen the reaction coming - he should have known that the two components couldn't just be mixed together all willy-nilly!

What a waste of time.

He'd have to make another sample of the red fluid, then the black liquid; perhaps a slow accumulation of black into red would result in total integration….

He sighed, and rested his weary body. He'd been at this single step for a week or more; there was no telling. Without sleep, his mind brought better and better solutions to his fingertips, but his hands quaked and some of his cognition and physical abilities suffered.

A small price to pay, but a price he ought not to be paying regardless.

If only they had listened to him! He'd have had a team of scientists with him, ready to work their hands and just as anxious as he was to reach the end product.

Instead, they dared to call his ideas, his  _ dreams,  _ nonsensical and preposterous, and him! Mad, was he? Let's see who was still talking when  _ It _ comes!

A narrow inhale; Wilson was winding up again, up and up and up. Lose control like that, yes he would, he would shake and drop the components all over his shoes, and he'd lose his toes! No, not pleasant, so he would calm.

He brought his hands to his temples, careful to avoid his hair. Everything was going down the crapshoot; earlier, with his eyes bright and hands still, he could focus only on the beauty, on the beautiful future. But with this latest difficulty, he wasn't sure he would live to see it.

And nobody would even care. No one would ever see the elixir, would never even realize just how sad such an existence without it was.

He had  _ seen _ it, and would bring it into this world even if it killed him.

Even if it killed him.

He stumbled to his feet, fiery determination roaring through him. He would try again! And again!

No matter how long it took--!

“Well, look at you, all fired up and ready to change the world.”

What--?

“You and I both know you'll get nowhere fast, and will continue slogging at this useless piece of eternity - unless you get a little outside help.”

The radio - his radio!

Wilson's hands shook, but he picked up the squat item with something like reverence.

It worked?

It  _ actually  _ worked?

“Oh gods and joys above, oh hells and desires below! Fate has followed through with her promise!”

“Hey, pal, don't shake it! It's not a doll, and this connection’s shoddy enough without your stupidity!”

He froze, and sat down with the device carefully laid on his lap. “You…. You were offering some assistance? Where are you casting from?”

“Oh, somewhere far away, much farther than your mortal mind could comprehend. Although, with my assistance, I promise you'll be able to soon enough.”

This - this was better than he could ever have imagined!

But….

“What do you want in return?”

“Well, pal, what are you willing to offer?”

Just moments before he was ready to lay down his life for this - was ready to give up his last breath to a dream everyone in his entire life had called mad.

Was he still ready?

Yes. He was.

“Alright, pal! I suggest you hold onto something!”

Something jumped from the radio into his hands, going straight to his brain, straight to his thoughts and digging itself a cavern, purging his last doubts, shaking away the dust on his memories. He felt stuffed to the brim with it, but was somehow comforted. There was something living inside him now, and it draped him with shadows and whispered the secrets of his dreams.

.

His fingers scrambled, twisted this way and that. Maxwell yammered on and on, barely perceptible underneath the clang and clutter of the Machine.

Oh, what a Machine! A wonder of wonders!

Of course, not as wonderful as  _ his  _ creations, but he felt the pulsating life of this machine like his own heartbeat.

Maxwell may claim to own you, he whispered to it, but  _ I _ created you. Do not forget that, beloved.

He had to pause his progress with his other love child - the elixir needed to wait, just ‘til Maxwell had what he wanted and repaid Wilson for his work.

And if the stranger did not follow through, whatever he had given Wilson was enough to get him through this lurch. Just last night, in fact, it had told him the secret to the pulse of the neck! Such an ingenious thing it was, teaching him of the delicacies of what he already knew and of things barred from his mind in the outside world! It was such a kind thing - he was incredibly grateful that it found his home so comfortable.

Of course, he had to keep what he knew hidden. Maxwell may have given it to him, but already Wilson knew how self-serving the stranger could be. If he knew that it not only  _ liked _ Wilson, but also had given him knowledge that Maxwell promised him when the Machine was finished, well, he might take it away.

Which wouldn't work - he needed it for the elixir!

He polished the last metal shell, sliding it nearly into place before taking a step back to admire his work. He only had a few things left to do.

“Yes, a wonderful creation, Wilson. Simply superb.”

“Not much longer, Maxwell?”

“Yes. Then I'll repay you back twofold.”

.

The days seemed to be getting longer. Wilson was always awake to watch the sun, sipping burning coffee and carefully shaving off the remnants of the work of the night before.

Just before dawn, before the radio whurred awake and Maxwell's voice broke the calm silence, the thing that had taken up residence inside his skull convinced him of things he never before thought were real.

The shadows that sloughed off his fingertips, swirling about the dusty floor, eager to follow his voice and demands - he couldn't tell if he was terrified that all the scientists in the world were so, so wrong about the very nature of what they studied, or delighted at the thing’s willingness to reach him. But whatever he truly felt, he knew this changed things.

It meant that what Maxwell told him was very important - it would mean that, if he just repeated what Wilson already knew, Wilson would definitely not be cooperating with the stranger any longer. But if Maxwell should tell him secrets the thing judged him to be too young to know, well, a business proposal was certainly in order.

But whatever occurred, the biggest thing that had changed was the elixir.

He knew now that several of the steps he had planned were all wrong, and he knew what he needed to do to reach completion.

In fact, the process had already begun; while Maxwell ‘slept’ and when the Machine spun quietly in its nest, Wilson worked on his true creation. He snuck out of the house in the dead of night, collecting ingredients of all manner, and showering in the early hours to hide the scent of calcium and chemicals.

The elixir was nowhere near completion, but Wilson was close - he was so close….

And then the Machine was finished.

.

It roared, and Wilson trembled. His hand slid from the lever slowly, his clothes suddenly drenched in sweat.

Maxwell laughed, roared just like his construction, the radio static so loud that Wilson thought his ears might burst.

He felt betrayed; cut, deeply, but not by Maxwell. He somehow always knew that, no matter how kindly Maxwell seemed, no matter how many conversations they held - he was still a selfish man, after his own selfish goals. Just like Wilson.

But the Machine - he had poured his blood down its throat, fed it his attention and adoration to it like a mother feeding their child.

And now it would kill him - murder him before he ever created that which he had always dreamed of, that which he always saw in those few hours he slept and during those few moments of lucidity in his feverish nightmares.

It would kill him - It would kill him--

Hands, squeezing his legs, crushing the bones in their grip, like he was trapped between two slabs of concrete, and he floundered.

The thing in his head was roaring, its voice intertwining with the Machine’s, but it was not of pain or anger or even fear.

He would not die! Not if it was speaking!

As he was dragged, down and down and down, something frightening inside him reached out and  _ snagged _ the world.

He was not leaving this earth, not alone.

.

He was dizzy.

The cave dripped with a heavy weight, cold and oppressive and  _ safe. _

_ You shouldn't be here. There is more outside - So much more, you would adore it. _

He couldn't. He couldn't.

It wasn't safe.

There was water here, there was food here, there was his elixir and his science.

It was safe here.

No matter how much he hated this godsdamned cave, it was safe.

The little machine in the corner whined. He patted its chrome surface with a trembling palm, and nearly fell to the side.

He was hungry. He was always hungry.

But he couldn't eat - not now. There was not enough.

Wilson went to the roughened wood desk, collapsing into the chair, wheezing slightly. He grasped the sealed container, smiling at just the little component in his beautiful creation.

The thing that still, after all this time, lived inside his mind, only whispered of the outside, taunting,  _ luring  _ him to leaving the blasted cave. It no longer gave its assistance, only giving little snippets in an effort to get him to leave, again and again and again. His brief trips to the horrifying land outside were not enough - he had to  _ leave. _

He was going mad. Going mad with hunger, going mad with this horrific cave.

There were things outside, monstrous, immortal, and he was so….  _ small…. _ beneath them. He must've been hiding in this cave for half a century.

The second machine whistled. He swirled the vial gently, watching the miasma of black shade weave through the bloody spot of life. It was so very close now.

He would not be leaving, not now. His elixir was here.

_ You're running out of ingredients. Before long, you will die of starvation and your elixir will perish with you. _

No. He would not.

His left hand squeezed his right hand’s scar, a deep canyon of dead tissue. 

He could not. But it was right - his elixir would never come to fruition at this rate. He'd starve before it ever reached the next stage. He had to.

He stood, a sudden motion that set the world spinning around him.

He tipped, but grasped the desk before he could fall. Wilson trembled, afraid yet determined. His elixir must not fail; it had to be completed. He had to leave.

Outside, it was too bright and too  _ much _ .

The trees, the grass, the bloody flowers - everything was so muted that it felt loud. He just had to get this over quickly, that was all. Just real quick.

He remembered a graveyard nearby, and a deep pond. Even farther was the pig village.

All held vital ingredients - the graveyard, with nuggets of clean gold and little sentimental things he found in the graves, the deep pond with murky water and skeleton fish, and the pig village with musk and swine. All held calcium in their depths, some without any history beyond their birth and some with ancient writing carved into their skin.

Wilson stood in the glow of the sun, taking shaky steps toward the graveyard. He had been there twice before.

He may not like leaving the cave, but the only reason he wasn't dead yet was because he did so, on very rare occasions.

The graveyard was just as empty as he recalled. Empty and silent, filled with the mourning of a million unburied souls. Nothing was buried here, and so the corpses mourned for never reaching their beds, and the empty plots mourned for their unfulfilled purpose. It was not a pleasant place to be.

Nevertheless, it was Wilson's favourite out of the three destinations. The pond was filled with horrendous frogs, which unlike the pliable, sweet things of his youth, were desperate to tear chunks out of his torso. The pig village was just that - a  _ pig village _ . He disliked pigs and he disliked villages. End of story.

He gripped his shovel tightly, having already searched the ground for gold and other jewels. Now, he would dig.

Digging was repetitive, boring, and somehow cathartic to his nerves. He sang a little lilting tune he recalled from childhood, and ignored the clusters of shadows that collected in the corners of his vision. The thing whispered louder, telling him of what awaited if he only stayed,  _ if he only just stayed, out here, where everyone will greet him with grins upon their faces…. _

He shook his head, nearly smacking his cheek against the wall of the pit. He dug his hands into the soft earth, well aware that anything he would find would be at this depth and no deeper.

Melted, fused marbles - one may not believe them of any use, but if melted down even further, they formed a gelatinous black goop that was vital later in the process. Once he had a surplus, he'd trade some with the pig king, who often gave him quite a lot of gold in exchange for the junk.

He rose out of the grave, huffing slightly at the exertion. His eyes were closed, sweat coating every crevice of him.

There were feet in front of his face. His eyes shot upward, and he was arrested with the face of a child. She gazed down at him with wide, blank eyes and a set, almost angry mouth.

He stared up at her, mind too overwhelmed for a single thought to break his shock.

She tugged him up, and he sat heavily on the edge of the open grave. She did not say a word.

He choked, coughed, and stuttered out, “Wha-- Who are you?”

“I should think you would know.” After that cryptic response, she turned away from him and began her trek back into the forest.

“Wa-Wait! Where are you going?!” He scrambled up to his feet, tripping several times in his haste.

“Where I am going is of no concern to you.” She disappeared into the fog of the evening, her figure dissipating into mist and darkness.

He shivered there, on his roughened knees, quite unsure of what to do next. This was the first time he had ever met anyone out here, and she had just seemed….

Disgusted with him. Why?

Perhaps she knew him from the old world.

He camped a small distance away from his dig site, as he still needed to continue with his expedition. He still required supplies from other places, and if he also wanted to wait a little longer to see if the girl would come back, well, no one was here to think that ridiculous.

The morning brought no small girl to him, only ached and pains from sleeping on his side and those random bouts of insomnia that roused him from his death-like rest. He sighed, but knew he could not stay nearby any longer; ghosts were apt to chase him out if the hounds did not catch his scent first.

So he bundled up his supplies and began the trek to the deep pond, mind still preoccupied with the girl.

Why? Why had she practically glared at him, and why had she expected him to know who she was? Endless questions with no answers, all just thoughts that jumbled about in his head - distracting him.

The pond’s edge was a sudden crust, curled up from the earth like a sneering lip. The water lapped at it gently, almost sluggishly. The frogs were absent, probably out harassing some innocent catcoon.

Wilson dropped his pack and plopped down, rolling up his filthy sleeves to his shoulders. He dug his fingers into the steep sides of the trench, feeling the slimy, mushy silt squirm beneath his fingers.

“Blegh. How disgusting,” he muttered, and then caught the fine edge of something. With a bit of careful wiggling, he pulled his hand out.

Just as he suspected, it was the remains of some carnivorous fish, with enormous, yawning jaws. Flagging bits of fatty, scaled skin clung to the cracked, water-logged bone, and he resisted pulling it off. Instead, he wrapped the carcass with paper, packing it away neatly.

He continued with this process for some time, finding bits of iron and even worn, sandy instruments inside the stomaches of some rotting fish. Useful for other uses, but not much help for his elixir.

Then a rustling of bush and crackling of leaves interrupted his dull work. He carefully glanced about, but did not raise his head. 

Nothing.

He finished his task, wiping muddied hands along his ruined trousers. Rising slowly, he kept an ear and eye on the suddenly silent forest.

He began to slowly walk away from the previous rustling, making his way to the pig village. A shocking pierce of sound broke the silence, rattling his teeth. His legs took off, his heart thundering.

Hounds - just a short distance away. But he’d make it - he swore he would make it!

The pigs, while they snorted at him and probably used a word very close to ‘inferior’ to refer to him, could not stand the hounds. They would fight - and hopefully kill - the beasts whilst he, ever the intelligent one, would get the hell out of dodge.

But as his wheezing breath whistled in his ears, he caught the sound of steady, running footsteps behind him. They were not the clatter of a hound, nor any other terrified noise of fleeing pests. They were human - and they were fearless.

Was it the girl? Hadn't she left?

Well, he wasn't going to risk his own neck for some obnoxious child! He sped up, his sprinting feet pounding harshly against the earth, flinging grit up behind him.

Just over the ridge, just over the ridge - the peak of one of the many shambling shacks the pigs inhabited crested over the speeding horizon, and he pushed his legs harder.

The barking grew louder, swelling like a wave of water, flooding the valley with harrowing sound. He could no longer hear the girl running behind him. Wilson briefly wondered if she had been caught or if she had hidden.

The pigs squealed when they saw him, knowing full well what he had brought with him. The smaller piglets were ushered inside, the bigger pigs growling at him as they pushed to the front of their village. The hounds would tear apart their gardens, would chew and defecate all over their houses, and would keep them trapped in their homes - unless they fought. Which was fortunate for Wilson.

He caught just a small break at the house at the very edge of the village. He left when the first hound breached the first lineup of warrior pigs.

.

The cave was just as miserable as he had left it.

He was too tired to be infuriated at the hounds - too tired to mourn lost time.

He promised himself that he would not be leaving again. This last trip was unnerving, and very uncomfortable. He was fine staying here, working on his glittering elixir, listening to the drip-drip-drip of oil and water flowing down the walls, forming long stalactites that he sometimes chipped away at for various minerals.

He stumbled to the pool of water, a spring that gushed from crevices and escaped through whistling, narrow tunnels. Wilson's face was coated in dirt and sweat, and the water seared his flesh upon contact. Hissing softly, he almost didn't hear it.

But his keen ears, sharpened by pain and fear, picked it up. A shuffling sound of feet, but so lightly he thought it was just a bug or pest, having smelled the small store of food in one of his bins.

He ignored it.

Wilson turned his attention to the elixir, gathering his ingredients and laying them out to showcase the various utensils. Now what?

The Thing in his head was deathly silent; had been since the grave and little girl. It seemed to be deep in thought, and was obviously going to be of no help. Great.

He ground the fish bone into a fine powder, pushing it aside to melt the marbles.

The bones often had a dried liqueur hidden in their crevices, and he had found that the marbles were edible - disgusting, and more like eating wax, and with the effects of a mushroom, but edible all the same.

Why was he thinking about the edible properties of these components? He needed them for his elixir, this was no time to think about  _ eating _ them!

His stomache let out an obnoxious rumble.

Well, it wasn't like he had the rest of the supplies for this step anyway.

Cooking was never his expertise, but he had been a grunt for one of the moonshiners at University. Not that anyone except him knew that.

He knew quite a bit about how to isolate and concentrate certain components, and by using the black gel that formed from the marbles and the liqueur taken from the fish bones….

He could make a very thick, blobulous, hot alcohol.

Of course, it wasn't very strong, but it would be enough to entertain him, take off the edge a little, and perhaps get his mind into gear.

Not to mention that it'd dull the hunger somewhat.

He sat back, patting the chrome dome of one of his little whistling machines, tired and aching. Taking the slightest taste of the concoction, he sighed and…. relaxed.

There was a pleasant zing to the flavour, strangely sweet like nectar. While the gelatin composition forced him to eat it like jelly, holding it in his mouth until it dissolved, he rather liked it. As Wilson slowly ate it, his mind drifted - to Maxwell, to the elixir, to the University.

The elixir was stalling. Was he upset that he never seemed to make progress on his own? That he needed assistance?

Nah. He was good. The elixir would be beautiful. He was irritated, of course, that the Thing inside his head was so quiet all the darn time, and that Maxwell had been such a backstabbing son of a bitch, but it would be completed regardless.

What was the Thing inside his head anyway? It was put there by Maxwell, and had stuck around, and Wilson was sure it was not supposed to be speaking to him.

_ You are drunk. You will get nowhere with the elixir in this state. _

Oh, piss off. You know what? He was going to call it Charlie from now on.

_ Go outside - some air will do you good. And I am not Charlie. _

Well, blah. He ate some more of the jelly. Yum.

Now, what was he thinking about? Oh, yes, the elixir!

His pride and joy - his life's work, his life's dreams, everything that ever mattered to him, condensed into one true form! All for the continued prosperity of the world, for mankind, for power! He would showcase the one creation he  _ knew _ would change absolutely everything - society, the world, the very universe - and those University snobs would finally realize just what a mistake they made when they cast him out!

Unethical standards? Maniacal schemes? Bah! What did they know? They knew  _ nothing! _

Without realizing it, he had risen to his feet, but found himself unsteady and dizzy. He swallowed another mouthful of the sweet gelatine, and green spots appeared in the corners of his eyes.

Wilson's feet seemed to twist in and out of view, but he managed to lurch to the bench. He swept off all the  _ useless _ knick-knacks, and they fell with a clatter to the stone floor. He laid his head down, and tried to force the spinning to cease.

When he raised his head again, a golden glimmer caught his sight. A shining relic, a strange instrument of yellow and brass. He chuckled at its glowing demeanor, and raised it in his left hand with an easy surety.

Then, with a decisive grin set upon his face, he sliced a long line down his forefinger.

Wilson watched the blood well up, and wondered why his blood was so  _ different. _

What was he thinking? It had  _ always _ been different, for there were things in his blood that spoke of a celestial destiny. The little insects that floated within, crying and whining at him, were just a tad bit annoying. But those same creatures were what had powered the Machine.

Ah, the Machine. Such a glorious creation, a kiss from him to the universe. But sadly, it hadn't enough loyalty in its heart to see him; instead, it saw only Maxwell. What had he honestly expected? It had not asked to be built by him; it wanted Maxwell to build it.

Oh well. If only Maxwell had recognised a future partner - but that had not happened.

The elixir was going to be his real kiss to his lover, his child, a gift and a debt.

Slightly breathless from his chuckling, he pressed the bleeding digit, and watched the red stream that flowed down his hand. It dribbled into his drink (he held back his slight surprise at how little was left), and when Wilson was sure that a delicious tang of iron had formed, he pulled out a stone slab.

_ You are not ready for that. Go outside. _

“Oh, it's always, ‘Go outside,’ with you. Perhaps I am not ready, but I tell you, the world certainly is. The future certainly is.” With a smile, he made a rough circle shape on the stone.

Taking the gold instrument, he drew an unknown sketch. Wilson did not feel any worry, despite not having a single clue as to what he was doing.

He hummed, grasped the vial holding his beautiful lifeblood. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he dropped the liquid - glass and all - onto his sigil.

.

Dizzy. Spinning darkness. His head pounded, and his temples clenched. His jaw felt rigid and unmoving. He swirled his tongue against his teeth, letting out a nasally exhale. Grass tickled his chapped. lips.

Wilson opened his eyes, pushing himself up with a coarse grunt. The blue sky opened up above him, the dim gray clouds masking the darkness. There was some shuffling, and he turned to his right.

Huh. The little girl from before had apparently survived. She stared at him with blank, milky eyes. Was she blind? He reached up to rub his own eyes, but the gesture was stuff and he couldn't reach.

Huh?

His hands were bound.

Why was he bound?

With a small, uncomfortable wiggle, he sat on his rump and stared in confusion at the thick rope twined over his legs and hands.


End file.
